Through the window, I hear the quiet swoosh of the passing cars. There’s a cool breeze coming in from the open window, like a little curious passerby, eager to see what’s happening. I don’t know what or where I’m going with this. It’s one of those posts I guess.
It’s always one of those posts when I write in first person. I don’t know where I’m going with the post. Life, oh this dear, lovely thing, is so complicated. There are moments when I feel like I’ve done this in some past life, because it just comes so naturally to me, and there are moments when I feel like I’m so new at this life and this experience. It’s this complexity that annoys me and yet endears me.
You know, I sometimes wonder what it would like to be a philosopher, to just think about how things work. I think it’d be fun, until the moment dawns where you question where your next bowl of food comes from. Practicality trumps interest I guess. I think if I were to really become a philosopher, I’d be a pretty bad philosopher because I could never detach myself from money concerns.
I was watching The Pursuit of Happyness when I was thinking that we are all in the pursuit of happiness, just to reach that one brief moment of happiness. Recently, I said that this is a beautiful mess, as odd and chaotic as it sounds, but I think there is some level of disorganization in life, but also a beauty in life. Our pursuit is so disorganized, and I think, no matter how you plan out your life, there’s always going to be some unforeseen obstacle that’s thrown your way. Once you reach happiness, though, everything appears to be so beautiful, even the dirty sidewalk that’s covered with a thin layer of dirt and the old, creaky gate.
We are guaranteed the chance or the opportunity to reach for happiness, and it’s our choice to go after it. We’re not guaranteed happiness; that’s just too easy. We have to search for it. That line in the move, “How did Thomas Jefferson know to add the pursuit of happiness in?” comes to me. Maybe when he was writing it, he reflected on his own life and experiences.
I was doing a presentation in school the other day and someone asked me, “Do you think belief in existentialism [the belief that one has the power to change one’s life] is something that comes with age?” In a way I do. When we’re young, our lives are so dictated by others. We have to follow a plethora of rules, what seems like a never-ending labyrinth. We grow, age, mature and we realize that the power of our lives is in ourselves. It’s such a scary, scary thought. It’s the thought that everything we do has the power to change our lives, for better or for worse.
Sometimes I think that some psychiatrist out there will read these posts where I muse about life, and give me an analysis of my personality and some long explanation about why I think like this. I don’t know if I’d want to know. Maybe I want to stay blissfully oblivious, maybe I don’t.
Sometimes I think that I reveal too much of myself, of my inner thoughts, my inner workings, leaving me vulnerable. Sometimes I think it’s a bad thing. Sometimes I don’t know.
I feel like I don’t know a lot of things. It’s part of being in the limbo between an adult and a child. At least that’s what I tell myself or else I will go crazy.